I Know You
by LaceyWren
Summary: The moment Abigail burst out of that front door and began hitting any part of him she could reach, he thought he believed. He almost felt God's hand on his shoulder, guiding him, leading him when he faltered. When he embraced Jack he knew he believed, but he wasn't ready to admit it just yet. Maybe it didn't need to be said. Some things just are.


**Disclaimer: Red Dead Redemption and all of its beautiful characters belong to Rockstar, not me.**

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><p><strong>I Know You<strong>

Was there truly a man standing on the ridge in front of him? John did not know. His eyes suggested that there indeed was such a figure ten feet away from him, but how often did strange men in top hats and pressed suits really stand on canyon ridges?

The man turned slowly in place to face him, a serene smile plastered onto his mustachioed visage.

"Welcome, John." he said. Just like they were old friends. "John Marston."

After thirty-eight years of living, John Marston still could not tell if he was a decent man or an irredeemable one. Sure, he had rescued more than his fair share of men and women from an untimely demise, but he had also sent plenty of undeserving people to an early grave himself. He wanted to change. Or, at least, he wanted to change for Jack. He and Abigail had already had their time, had already made their choices, but Jack was different. John could see in him the spark of hope that had been absent in him and his wife for so long, and that spark made him want to be a better person. Due to this desire, John obeyed the odd man standing on the edge of the nondescript canyon and stopped a complete stranger from befouling his marriage bed. He didn't know what to think. He'd never believed in the supernatural before, but he had to admit, inwardly at least, that the events that had unfolded before him may not have been quite of this world.

The second time they met, John was ready. He approached the stranger in the foreign land of Nuevo Paraiso with a question burning on his tongue, a question that the man once again sidestepped too easily.

"You know, I admire you, John. I hope my boy turns up just like you."

These words would swim around in John Marston's mind for days on end. Did he really deserve such a compliment? He was almost sure he didn't, but a small part of him wished that he did. He kept that in mind when he ran into an aforementioned nun outside of Las Hermanas and acted accordingly, giving her more money than he would have otherwise. John still didn't believe in God. He had trouble understanding how a seemingly omnipotent guardian could have possibly allowed the world around him to exist as it did, constantly on the verge of shattering. Was it wrong of him to walk into Blackwater's chapel and ask Him for a chance at redemption? Would death dog his steps from the very first moment he drew breath until the last? He didn't know. He didn't find his answers in that church either.

By winter that year, John had his family back. The moment Abigail burst out of that front door and began hitting any part of him she could reach, he thought he believed. He almost felt God's hand on his shoulder, guiding him, leading him when he faltered. When he embraced Jack he _knew_ he believed, but he wasn't ready to admit it just yet. Maybe it didn't need to be said. Some things just are.

It was two months later that John ventured up onto a hill to the southwest of Beecher's Hope, a beautiful spot where he could see for miles around. He was surprised to find that he was not the only one who'd decided to go up there that day. The strange man in the top hat had returned, his back to John and his eyes roaming over the home he had built for his family five years ago. John wanted an explanation but he knew, even before the man spoke to him, that he wasn't going to get it.

"Tell me your name or I won't be responsible for my actions."

John had tried to live his life without making threats he wouldn't follow through on, and today was no different. He was ready to hurt this man if it meant he'd be told the truth for once. To his dismay, the stranger continued to smile.

"Oh, but you will. You will be responsible."

The man looked once more at the ranch and then back at John.

"This _is _a fine spot. See you around, cowboy."

At this point, John was sure of just one thing: he would rather never see this man again. Every time they met he could feel that the stranger was something wrong, something _other_. Why did he know John? How could he possibly predict the actions of a wretched man and a devout nun without taking a step towards either of them? He would never admit it, but John was scared. This man, who had never been anything other than cordial with him, terrified him to no end.

"Damn you!"

John shouted the words with venom and ripped his gun out of its holster, ready to empty a clip into the stranger's retreating back. He shot the pistol once, twice, three times before the fourth bullet got jammed in the barrel. He looked down at the useless weapon in his hand, and then at the enigma of a human walking away from him. How was he still standing?

Without turning around, without so much as glancing at him, the stranger spoke again.

"Yes. Many have."

He was gone. He was gone, and John knew no more than he had when the man had first arrived.

If only he was made aware of how lucky he was that the gun had jammed when it did; if only he knew that divine judgement had made a point of knowing him, perhaps he wouldn't have felt so hopeless when Edgar Ross arrived at Beecher's Hope with an entire cavalry in tow. He was going to die. He was going to die, and he believed in God. Was he an idiot, he wondered, or a saint? It didn't matter either way, but he didn't know that. The one thing that mattered was this:

When John Marston passed on from this world, his soul was redeemed.

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><p>AN- This is just a oneshot I wrote two years ago when I first finished the game. I'd appreciate reviews, but I know they're not common for a story this short. I just thought I'd put it out there anyway.

Much love,

Lace


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